


The Cat Burglar

by Tinuviel_Undomiel



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 17:25:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6866128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinuviel_Undomiel/pseuds/Tinuviel_Undomiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle has a cat that goes on a crime spree and has a particular love for Mr. Gold's underwear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cat Burglar

**Author's Note:**

> lizandletdie prompted this fic so I based the cat off of her silly kitty Hercules. I hope everyone enjoys this. I wrote this for the tumblr event Rumbelle is Hope.

            Storybrooke was a very quiet town in Maine with the largest crime on record being vandalism when Kathryn Nolan spray-painted Mary Margaret Blanchard’s car after catching her with her husband. It was a town largely forgettable as a whole, where people lived quiet lives behind closed doors. However, an odd string of burglaries and break-ins disturbed the placid calm that was Storybrooke.

            At first, Reginald Gold was perplexed over how his ten-pound Boston terrier, Tux, was jumping onto the counters and stealing his jar of homemade dog biscuits. The little black and white dog was rapidly growing as round as a beach ball, and had no intention of stopping it. Little things went missing around the same time: an oven mitt, a pocket kerchief, two wooden spoons from his kitchen, four socks, and his underwear. The thief apparently enjoyed his undergarments the most as six pairs were missing.

            The usual gossips around town were tittering that he wasn’t the only home hit by this peculiar burglar. Toys were be secreted away from babies, gloves, hats, even a complete bikini set were all purloined by this prowler. It was the largest round of gossip since Belle French had her rather public breakup with George Knighton.

            Sheriff Graham couldn’t make heads or tails of the entire thing. Miss Ginger was certain it was some pervert, peeking through windows and stealing unmentionables. Archie Hopper was convinced it was some troubled teenager just trying to get attention. Meanwhile Gold put extra locks on his doors. Yet somehow, the thief was still managing to get inside.

            It wasn’t until he happened to stay up at night going over his record books that he heard a crash coming from his kitchen. He quickly pulled his pistol out of the drawer of his desk, taking the safety off. He tiptoed as quietly as he could, not an easy feat with his cane. He nudged the door to kitchen open with his cane. Tux was happily chomping down on some biscuits that had fallen from the upturned canister. The door the laundry room squeaked, and Gold had time to see a streak of black and white racing out towards the doggie door, a pair of his silk boxers held carefully between its jaws.

            A cat. His thief was some stupid cat!

            Gold cleaned up the mess left over by the feline, cursing its owner to hell in the process. He couldn’t seal up Tux’s door or the poor dog wouldn’t have the freedom to go out to the backyard whenever he wished to. There was no way for him to stop the cat from coming into his house. Certainly his well-fed dog didn’t mind the intruder at all.

            His plan was the try and research ways to keep out literal cat burglars, but a walk through town with Tux on his leash two days later solved a greater part of the mystery. Fliers had appeared all over town, posted on corkboards in the shops, and taped to lampposts.

            “Apologies to my townspeople. It appears my cat has been going on a thieving spree. I have recovered several of his treasures. I will put them out in my yard tomorrow so you may reclaim them. I send you my deepest apologies, as does Hercules. Sincerely, Belle French.”

            Accompanying the flier was a picture of the cat. He was black and white, with a black mask over the top of his head, and white below his eyes. There was a streak of black beneath his nose that stretched out in a sort of half mustache, a rather comical look.

            Wonderful. He didn’t know how this could possibly have gotten more humiliating. Not only would he have to reclaim his underwear in front of the entire town, but also he would have to do it in front of Belle French.

            The pretty librarian had come home to Storybrooke two years ago. Her father owned the flower shop, Game of Thorns. Her father had been thrilled when she started going out with George Knighton. Within a month, he and the rest of the town were already marrying the two of them off. She was pretty girl, far to good for the likes of Knighton. There had been some grim satisfaction each morning when he’d seen there was no notification of her engagement in the papers. Then four months ago Knighton actually did propose, and Miss French had the curious answer of “no”. This led to a fight, which ended when Miss French upturned a cup of hot coffee into Knighton’s lap. That was rather a surprise since she’d always been a sweet girl. Of course, he’d argued with her over the merits of Tolstoy and Hugo. He’d known the fire that burned in her.

            No he had to muster his dignity as he claimed his stolen underwear from her.

            She had set up tables and piled them high with her cat’s pilfered treasure. Stuffed animals, tennis balls, hats, scarves, towels, even a boy’s jacket, were all displayed for their owners to claim. Situated in one center was his underwear. It was easy to tell which ones were hiss in the mess. He never wore boxers with cartoon animals nor was he partial to poorly washed briefs. His underwear was made of plain black silk…save one.

            He saw _that_ one placed at the very top of the pile. If he could just grab the others and sort of discreetly cover that one, he could perhaps get away without anyone knowing.

            “Oh dear,” a pleasant voice with an unforgettable Australian accent said, “I had hoped that Hercules would have left your house alone.”

            He turned, one hand still clutching a pair of his boxers. Belle French smiled back at him, as beautiful as ever. “Yes, well, apparently Tux enjoys the biscuits your cat feeds him to keep him quiet.”

            “Oh, well he’s wilier than I thought,” she said. “I do feel bad that Hercules was doing this, but I must admit, it has been fun learning what little things belong to the people in this town. Did you know that Miss Ginger collects Beanie Babies?”

            He hadn’t, but it certainly would make him look at her strangely from now on.

            “And that Mr. Dove creates ceramic unicorns?” Belle asked him, “Hercules stole three of them.”

            “Yes, Dove is quite talented.”

            “There are a few things I’m rather curious about. Like these.” Belle reached over and picked up the one thing he did not want her grab. “I wonder who on earth these belong to.”

            The object of her curiosity was a pair of metallic gold speedos, frighteningly tight and glimmering in the afternoon sun. Gold shut his eyes, but he could already feel the heat in his cheeks.

            “I was thinking perhaps Mr. Filpots, what do you think?”

            “Uh…well…” Did she really not realize he was practically sweating bullets now?

            “Or maybe Jefferson. He’s a bit eccentric.”

            She had to know. She was just teasing him now, much like how her stupid cat would toy with a mouse before delivering the killing blow.

            “Yes, he is, but—.”

            “Or maybe—.”

            “Oh just give them here!” he snapped, yanking them out of her grip and stuffing them into his jacket.

            Belle’s finger’s still gripped the empty air, her eyes blinking slowly. “Oh,” she said, “I never…”

            “You had your fun,” he hissed, “Now I would suggest putting a leash on that stupid cat of yours or else I may be tempted to call animal control and let them deal with it.”

            Gold hastily grabbed the rest of his inconspicuous undergarments and walked away with all the dignity she and her damned cat had left for him.

            He spent the better part of the evening nursing a bottle of scotch and indulging in an even greater amount of self-loathing. He’d known better than to think he’d ever had a shot of impressing her, but at least it had been a pretty daydream on lonely nights like this. Now he had officially slammed and locked that door shut forever. Tux, the traitor, was staring mournfully at the container of dog biscuits. Apparently Hercules had opted not to return to the scene of his many crimes.

            The knock on the door disturbed his intention to get blackout drunk.

            It was too late for it to be anyone friendly, not that anyone like that ever came to visit him. He thought about ignoring the visitor, but the scotch made him bitter enough where he felt like telling whoever it was to go straight to hell. However, his intentions wound up withering away when he opened the door.

            Belle French stood on his doorstep, shoulders up straight, magnificent eyes glaring daggers at him. He mouth went dry just staring at her. “What—what can I help you with?” God she was beautiful.

            “You’re a bastard,” she said.

            “So I’ve been told.”

            She pushed her way into his home, her heels stomping down onto the marble. “Hercules is a good cat.”

            “I doubt the majority of the town would agree with you,” he replied.

            “He’s a rescue,” she continued like that little fact hadn’t been spoken, “They found him in the parking lot of Granny’s just a little kitten. He hasn’t harmed anyone. You have no right to threaten to take him away from me like that.”

            “Perhaps you should train him better.”

            “He isn’t like your ridiculous dog,” Belle argued back.

            “What does Tux have to do with this?”

            “Your dog doesn’t even bark outside or act like another pet.”

            “It’s my fault that I trained him to behave?” Gold bit out.

            “I like Hercules just the way he is. You won’t make me change him.”

            “So you want him to continue to steal people’s underwear?”

            “Maybe,” she snapped back at him. She was right up to his chest now, so close he could smell her perfume: vanilla and lavender. “He seemed to enjoy your speedo immensely.”

            Maybe it was alcohol or the way her perfume fogged up his mind, but he found himself staring at her pretty pink lips. The pupils in her eyes were large, threatening to swallow up all of the blue. He could see her chest heaving with each breath she took.

            It was hard to say how it happened. He leaned in towards her just as she was moving towards him and they found themselves in a bruising kiss. There were no pretty love songs or longing looks to be found, just unbridled fury and lust.

            She bit his lip; he squeezed her ass. She ripped open his shirt; he sucked on her neck hard enough to leave a mark. They tore at their clothes, popping buttons and tearing seams. It was too far to go to the bedroom. The sofa was too soft for the sort of sex they had in mind. He shoved her over the arm of the couch, hiking up her pretty skirt. He tore away her red thong, and then unzipped his pants before shoving his cock up inside her dripping core from behind.

            Belle arched up against him, shoving her backside up against his hips. He didn’t start slow. He pounded into her while she thrust back just as hard. The couch inched along the hardwood in time with their thrusts. He nipped at her shoulder as she reached back to tangle her fingers in his hair. She was moaning which each blow his cock made in her core. He could feel her walls starting to flutter. He was close, but he would be damned if he finished before her. He shoved his hand between her legs, feeling where he was joined with her. One brush of his thumb against her clit was enough. Belle let out a scream while her walls closed in around him. He spilled himself with growl, his teeth biting into her shoulder again.

            Gold remained draped over her, their breath coming out in gusts. They didn’t move, didn’t dream of separating just yet. It could have been hours before he cleared his throat and said, “The speedo was gift,” he said, “My son thought they were funny. I’ve never worn them.”

            She let out an amused, “hmm” and then said, “That’s a shame. I think they’d be sexy on you.”

            Now that was an idea worthy of round two.

            The next morning, Storybrooke found that Hercules, the thieving cat had struck again. This time, he came trotting out of Mr. Gold’s house with a red thong carefully between his teeth.

**Author's Note:**

> Please review and let me know what you think.


End file.
